


Always Something New

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 16:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: On William's prom night, Scully tells Mulder a story from her own.





	Always Something New

**Author's Note:**

> This story is AU--in it, Mulder and Scully have raised William.
> 
> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

It’s been almost five minutes since Will left, but Mulder’s still pacing by the window.  “Would you stop that?” Scully says.  “Come and sit down.”  He ignores her.  “There’s some wine if you want it.”

He shoots her a look.  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, tonight.”

“I’m not suggesting that we get falling-down drunk,” Scully says.  “I’m talking about a glass.  It’ll be hours until Will gets back, and we’re not going to have to go rescue him from danger, no matter what you’re imagining right now.  You could use the wine if you’re going to act like this.”  When his pacing takes him back toward the couch, she pats the spot next to her.  “What are you afraid of, exactly?”

He sighs and takes a seat.  “I don’t know.  That he’ll do something stupid.”

“Well, he might,” Scully says.  “He’s a teenager, after all.  But he won’t do anything really wrong.  We raised a good kid, Mulder.” 

“I know,” Mulder says.  He nods when she goes to pour the wine, which she takes as a sign that he’s calmed down at least a little.  “But it is prom night.  There’ll be other kids doing things, and if he gets dragged into it…”

“Look, he knows not to ride with anyone who’s been drinking,” Scully says.  “He knows about respecting a girl’s boundaries.  I’m just not that worried.  He’s a sensible kid—”

“Sensible people sometimes do dumb things,” Mulder says.  “You know that.”

She takes a sip of wine and shakes her head.  “What is all this?  Did you do something crazy on your prom night and you’re worried about history repeating itself?”

“No,” he says.  “I didn’t go to prom, actually.”  She touches his knee, quickly, and he smiles about her.  “What about you?  Was your prom night peaceful and law-abiding?”

“Well…” she says.

“Aha!” he says.  “You see my point now.”

“No, I don’t,” Scully says.  “This is what I’m talking about, Mulder.  It was just stupid kid stuff.  Nothing worth worrying over.”

“So what happened?” he asks, and she launches into the story, thinking it might be a good distraction.

“We went out to the beach,” she says, “after the prom was over.  Me and my friends and my date.  Kind of a quiet area, you know, where we could talk—”

“I’ll bet,” he says, elbowing her, and she elbows him back amiably. 

“Be quiet,” she says.  “Let me tell my story.  There were eight of us, I think.”  She casts her mind back, tallying up the people on her fingers.  “Yeah, eight.  Four couples.  We were drinking together a little when we first got there, some cheap shit, just to get buzzed, but then we all spread out.  I took off my shoes—I had these horrible blisters already—and I was walking with my date, Marcus.”

“Marcus,” Mulder repeats.  “What was he like?”

“Cute,” she says.  “I thought so at the time, anyway.  We were on the debate team together, and in history class.  We did a project on the Great Depression together.”

“Sexy.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic,” she says, “but it was, kind of.  Not the Great Depression, but getting to work together.  You know how it is, when you’re that age and you like someone.  Any time you spend with just them feels like a big deal.” 

He nods, after a moment.  “I know what you mean,” he says.  “So what became of Marcus?”

“We broke up before college,” she says.  “I don’t know about after that.”

“What, you’ve never looked him up?” he asks, and when she shakes her head, he says, “Scully, what is the point of being a federal agent if you can’t nose into people’s business?”

She laughs.  “I’ve just never felt the need,” she says.  “I’m not exactly looking for a man right now, you know.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says, and he kisses her lightly.

She kisses him back and then nestles against his shoulder.  “Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”

“Of course,” he says.  “Keep going.”

“So Marcus and I found a place to sit down on the sand,” she says.  “I think he put his jacket down for me.  So I wouldn’t get sand on my dress.”

“What was your dress like?” he asks.

“Purple,” she says.  “Moiré taffeta.  Very early eighties.  And like I said, everyone else was kind of spread out, around us.  And my friend Sylvia and her date were building a bonfire.  Remember that part, because it’s important for later.”  He nods, smiling, and she goes on.  “So I was sitting there with Marcus.  We were talking, and you know how that feels, when you’re young and in love and a little tipsy and it’s two in the morning—like everything you’re saying is some brilliant new insight.”  He smiles at her, and she smiles back; she still feels like that with him sometimes, even though she’s fifty-five, even when it’s the middle of the afternoon and she’s stone-cold sober.  “And we were making out, just lying there on his jacket, you know.  We’d done some stuff before, but we hadn’t gone all the way.”  That’s the wording that comes to her mind now, the way she’d thought of it back then.  “So we were kind of feeling our way, looking at each other, this is our last hurrah, should we go for it, and then…well, I heard this siren.”

“Oh man,” Mulder says.  “The bonfire?”

“You got it,” she says.  “It had gotten completely out of control.  Sylvia and her date were not experienced fire-builders, let’s just put it that way.  I remember, these other two kids, Jackie and…” She trawls her memory for the name.  “…Ian, they were running along the sand screaming bloody murder.” 

“So what happened?” Mulder asks.

“Well, the fire department came,” Scully says.  “And they dealt with it.  And then we all had to ride back on the truck.”  She laughs, remembering.  “We were all so mad.  And I left my shoes on the beach somewhere.  I wouldn’t even talk to Sylvia all weekend.  We were just sitting there in the truck, looking like idiots, all in formalwear and trying to pretend we were completely sober…”  She starts laughing again, and Mulder laughs with her.  “So you see,” she finishes up, “I definitely did something stupid on prom night.  But I’m still here, right?  It didn’t ruin my future.”

“You’re right,” he says, kissing her again, just above her jawline.  “It is quite the story, though.  You’ve never told me about that before.” 

She hasn’t.  She thought she had, once, and maybe the circumstances under which that happened made her less than eager to pull the story out again.  Now that she’s told it, though, feeling that way seems silly; she’s glad, now, glad that the story is theirs.  “No,” she says simply.  “I guess I haven’t.”

“Always something new with you,” he says.  She loves the way he’s looking at her, his face so soft. 

“You too,” she says, squeezing his hand.  Twenty-seven years now, and she’s never been bored.

“What time is it?” he asks her. 

She glances at the clock.  “Eight-thirty.  Why?”

“So we’ve got plenty of time,” Mulder says.  “What do you say we do something crazy for prom night?”

“What did you have in mind?” she asks, coyly, and then she shrieks with laughter when he sweeps her up into his arms and heads for the stairs.  “You good to carry me?” she asks, smiling up at him.  “We’re not getting too old for this kind of thing?”

“I don’t think so,” Mulder says.  “And even if we’re getting old, Scully, the night is young.”


End file.
